What is Needed
by WhyAye
Summary: Hobson/Lewis. Can't resist putting these two together. Maturity level has increased a bit with new chapters, but I think it's still T. I'll change to M if you readers agree with that. First time ever writing fic, so I hope it's okay.
1. Chapter 1

"Doctor, I think this is your round." Inspector Robert Lewis held out his empty glass and swirled the dregs. Congenially, Dr. Laura Hobson collected it, along with the empty pint glass held out by Sergeant James Hathaway, and headed for the bar. Lewis had lost track of how many rounds they had shared, but since he had generously offered to be the group's designated driver and was quaffing mere orange juice, he was feeling no effects from the hours they had spent in the pub that Friday evening. He wasn't sure the same could be said for his two companions.

They were celebrating the successful conclusion of a tricky case. It had seemed open-and-shut at first, death caused by an accidental tumble down a steep staircase. But something had not smelled right about the case, and it was Hathaway who pushed for checking the victim's fingernails for skin fragments underneath. Dr. Hobson confirmed there was a viable DNA sample there and the sample turned out to match a record already on file. Lewis pretty much let Hathaway run the investigation and, although it had taken some time to locate the suspect, they eventually found him working in an off-license near Jericho. Lewis peppered the suspect with intense questioning, and when this was combined with Hathaway's intense silences (which the suspect felt compelled to fill with words), the excuses and alibis got tangled up until the man was hopelessly awash in his own lies. He ended up making a confession that meshed perfectly with the evidence, even the bits that had not been released to the public. It was, as their boss would say, a good result.

The upshot was that Lewis felt Hathaway should be rewarded by not having to worry about getting himself home after two or three pints. Or, wait, they were up to four now, he realized, with the return of Dr. Hobson, spilling the brimming glasses a bit as she made her way across the room. Ah. No wonder the younger two of the threesome were laughing so loudly.

It occurred to him just then that there might be more than mere ale fueling the good humor. James and Laura seemed to be sitting unusually close together, and something in their eyes hinted at a secret shared between them. Hmm. He'd better start paying a bit more attention to the nuances, he decided. He still couldn't believe he had been totally oblivious to the romance that had once flared between Hathaway and Fiona McKendrick. Hobson had put him onto that, come to think of it. She seemed to keep better track of Hathaway's unspoken communication than might be expected. Now he even found himself wondering if Laura had been completely kidding when she told Lewis she was secretly in love with Hathaway. At the time, he thought she was only flirting with him, but maybe he'd misread that?

He blinked back to the present as he realized they were holding empty glasses out toward him. He made his way to the rather crowded bar, telling himself this was definitely going to be the last round.

Halfway back across the room, he glanced up toward their table and saw James saying something into Laura's ear. She broke into a wide grin, and her reply brought a similar grin to the younger man's face. When Lewis arrived at the table, their conversation was suddenly over and they bore guilty looks. Or so he thought. Maybe he just imagined they were up to something. Not that he wouldn't be happy for them. But if there was a romance between his two best friends, it was bound to change the dynamic of the group. Assuming James engaged in romance with the same intensity he applied to his work, Lewis would become a third wheel, an interloper, and their familiar camaraderie would be lost, or at least reduced. He felt comfortable with them both, and wanted to keep them both as two of the few friends he had. In some ways, he felt as if he'd known Hathaway almost as long as he'd known Hobson. Which, come to think of it, was a pretty damned long time.

He smiled to himself as he remembered the first time he saw her, years ago at Blenheim. The very first thing she said was a smart remark to Morse, his boss at the time. Not unlike the rather prickly beginning of his own relationship with James, punctuated with cocky retorts and banter as they sorted out where they each stood. Now all it took was a glance over the top of a witness's head to confirm that he and James both had the same perspective. Yet, despite their professional familiarity, Lewis had to admit to himself he remained both uninformed and curious about Hathaway's personal life, even if it was none of his business.

"You're awfully quiet this evening, Sir." Hathaway's voice brought him back again to the pub.

"Guess I'm more tired than I thought. I'm ready to head for home. Shall we?"


	2. Chapter 2

Hathaway's home being the nearest, Lewis drove there first. As James unfolded himself from the car, Lewis was sure he saw James give a thumbs-up to Laura. What was that all about? He really had missed something going on between them, hadn't he?

Shortly after, the car pulled up to Dr. Hobson's house. She did not immediately open the door, however. After a pause, she turned to him rather decisively.

"Why don't you come in for a glass of wine? You've been boringly sober all evening and one glass won't put you over the limit. Besides, I've hardly had a word with you all night."

Feeling a bit put out at being considered boring, Lewis snatched at the opportunity to prove otherwise. He was also a bit surprised at the competitive urge he suddenly felt.

"Why not? I could use a little warm-up. Thanks." After all, he added to himself, this may provide the perfect opportunity to find out what's going on. Not many chances for a one-on-one with the good doctor.

She unlocked the door and gathered up the post, switching on the light as they entered. She put on some quiet music and brought a bottle of tempranillo, two glasses, and a corkscrew from the kitchen. Lewis settled himself in a comfortable chair and Laura sat across from him.

"Would you maybe like something a little stronger, brandy or something?"

"Ahh, no thanks. I only drink brandy when I want to forget."

She pulled the cork, and poured two generous glasses. Lewis took a long swallow, enjoying the warmth that spread downward from his throat.

"You really let Hathaway revel in his own glory on this case, didn't you?"

"Ah, he seemed to be doing so well with it. I just let him take the wheel." He paused. In a quieter voice, "Guess I should start getting used to taking a back seat to him." He realized he was seeking reassurance, and could not for the life of him figure out why.

"Nonsense. He's still wet behind the ears. He got lucky on this case."

"I think he has more luck than I do in more than just our cases, y'know?"

She gave him a puzzled look. "What do you mean—socially? James?"

Lewis sighed. "Well, he has that music group and seems to have a lot of friends his own age. Who've I got? I feel like I should be, I dunno, meeting people and doing things with people. I have no idea how to do that these days. What the rules are."

"Women, you mean?"

He gave her a bit of a perplexed look and a shrug. Then,

"Yeah, women. James seems to do okay."

"The rules haven't changed much since the last time you were playing the field, really."

Lewis couldn't help letting out a snort. "Last time I 'played the field,' as you so nicely put it, I ended up marrying the lass I was courting. I don't see myself doing that again." What was he telling her this for? The conversation was going nowhere near the direction he had intended. "I get the impression that James knows much more about all this—y'know, dating and sex and all—despite his priestly inclination."

Laura studied him a bit with narrowed eyes, then cracked a crooked smile. "Are you saying that after all those years of married life, you don't know about sex?"

This kept getting worse. Redirection was needed. "What I mean is, James has experience in that tricky area of figuring out what's expected, what's hoped for, and what's out of bounds when you're with someone you're not married to."

She continued to consider him closely. "Well, how did you figure all that out with Val? When did you know it was the right time to . . . ?" She left the question hanging in the empty air.

"Well, we were married, man! It wasn't hard to figure out, once we were married, we should be . . . y'know, doing something about it."

Now she looked at him with what he recognized as her best, part-mocking, part-serious, interrogating look, head cocked to one side. "Are you telling me, Inspector, that you were a virgin on your wedding night?"

Bloody hell, had he really just told her that? Wildly embarrassed, he shot a glance around the room, anywhere but at the chair across from him. He ended up focused on a point floating somewhere to the side of her left knee. Hoarsely, he muttered, "If you tell anyone—" He took another swallow of wine, hoping it would unclench his throat a bit. If anyone at the station learned this bit of news, he'd never hear the end of it. Finally, he peeked up at her, expecting to see her stifling laughter.

Instead, she was looking at him in a different way, though he wasn't sure how, exactly. She smiled. "Hey. It's okay. Only, I feel a bit like I've just found a unicorn—something you hope exists no matter how unlikely it seems. But don't worry, I'll keep it to myself."

Great. He was a unicorn. So far, his attempt to find out what was going on between James and Laura was costing him a lot, with nothing to show for it.


	3. Chapter 3

Lewis tried a new approach.

"Well, maybe you could give us some guidance on this, Doctor. I'm sure you've been . . . ah . . . romantically involved more than once. What's it like for people . . . well, not that you're my age, but you have to admit we're both certainly past prime for dating." He felt a bit mean, putting her on the spot like that, but he couldn't see any other way around her steady refusal to take the bait and discuss James.

She took a tone of mock offense. "I'm not sure I consider myself quite that far gone." Then, after a bit of silence, more gently, "It's really not so difficult, you know. Most people just want the same thing: a kind word, a gentle touch, a little company. It's not good to be alone so much."

"Are you alone much, Laura?"

"Mmm. A bit more than I'd like. You?"

"S'pose so." More silence. "The thing is, I don't want to start all over with a brand-new relationship. I don't really want that . . . thrill, I guess, that there is with new love. What I miss is the comfort of someone who knows how I'm feeling, what I need, just by the way I breathe, you know? Someone I can have a whole conversation with, just with me eyes."

She looked thoughtful, but didn't answer. He again found himself needing to fill the silence.

"It's like shoes – you can't buy shoes that are already broken in to your own feet, but that's what I want. Nah, I'm pretty much resigned to doing without from now on. I know it's daft. Not much chance I'd ever find another woman who could give me that feeling of being a perfect fit, right from the gate."

Why was he talking so much? It was that old interview trick, say nothing and eventually the other person will say anything to break the silence. How come she was so bloody good at it?

Laura poured the last drops of wine into his glass – when did they drink the whole thing? He'd never be able to drive home in this state. He silently cursed himself for letting this get totally out of control.

Then, unexpectedly, Laura stood up, crossed over to his chair, and held out both her hands. Just as unexpectedly, he found himself taking them and she pulled him to his feet. For the first time, he heard the slow two-step playing on the stereo. It was just the kind of thing he and Val would dance to quietly after the kids had gone to bed. But he was wary of touching those painful memories, and sighed heavily with the effort of mentally trying to veer away. Laura said nothing, but he realized she was looking deeply, seriously, into his eyes, all laughter gone. In her gaze was reassurance that the pain wouldn't be as bad as he expected, if he would just trust her to soothe it. He wanted to trust her that much, very badly. Then she smiled slightly and he couldn't help but smile back. He was relaxing, breathing steadily. She reached her arms up to his shoulders and he enfolded her waist with his hands, holding her body close, listening for the pulse of the music. He closed his eyes, noticing that he was still in the present, instead of imagining it was Val's head on his chest. It felt so good. This was exactly what he needed.

No surprise, really. Laura was good at reading people that way. And she knew what he had been through in the past several years. He remembered that night at the Bird and Baby, when he finally had won his promotion to Inspector. It began as a happy celebration, with much toasting and back-slapping. But after his glass had been refilled a few times, Lewis fell to reminiscing about Morse and his spirits sagged. He was certain he would never live up to filling the great man's shoes. It was Laura who finally pried the glass out of his hand, took away his keys, and delivered him—crying, stumbling, and reeking of sick—to Val's anxious care.

And, much too soon after that, it was Laura who regularly came 'round the house after Val was killed and he no longer cared to function. She would bring groceries, or fix a meal, or do the washing, or just sit with him. Eventually, he was compelled to take care of himself, in part because he was embarrassed to have her doing so much for him. Caregiving was not her natural habit, and he recognized it must have taken supreme effort on her part to be so domestic on his behalf. And when he returned from the Caribbean a few years later, her sass was a welcome landmark in a place where it seemed everything else had changed.

He looked down at her hair as they swayed to the music, conscious that she was probably the best friend he had. She turned her head to look at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling in an impish smile. She looked as if she might kiss him.

And then he realized with a visceral jolt that he very much hoped she would.


	4. Chapter 4

Stunned, he pushed her back, the sudden awareness drenching him like a wave. He gaped at her, wide-eyed.

"It's YOU! You've been here all along, haven't you?"

She smiled broadly, eyes sparkling. He stared at her as if he'd never seen her before, then tugged her back to him, wrapping his arms around her, clinging to her like a lifeline. He buried his face in her hair, and silently heaved with both sobs and laughter at the same time. For the first time in years, he was free of the dark weight of sorrow and loneliness that hung on everything he did. He could feel tears trickling from the corners of his eyes, but he let them come. He seemed to be floating.

Then he felt a rising heat—and a hunger—that he had nearly forgotten. It thawed the shards of ice in his heart and brought to his mouth what he would have objectively considered a foolish smile. He tipped her chin up and pulled her even closer to him, kissing her deeply, knowing she could feel his need for her. Wanting her to feel it. He longed to let go of his hesitation completely right then. Yet, something still nagged at him, something that he wasn't sure how to answer.

"What am I going to tell James Monday morning?"

She answered him as people always had when he asked this sort of question.

"Knowing you, Robbie, you'll tell him the truth."

"But . . ." He dove in. "But what about you and him? I saw you two whispering together tonight, when I went to get that round. You can't tell me there's nothing going on." He half-feared what she would say.

She looked a little guilty at first, then took a deep breath and chuckled a bit.

"I'm afraid I have to admit we were whispering together, but it was about you, Robbie, not about me and James. James has known from the start that there was something deeper than just old friendship between you and me. He was betting you'd take at least another month to discover it and I insisted you would recognize it tonight if only you were given the right opportunity. It seems he owes me lunch."

"Seriously? You two were betting on how thick I might be?" He thought back a moment on the evening, and let himself feel hurt. "What, and playing me, the whole time?"

She looked concerned at this. "Not playing, no. Giving you the means to work it out on your own." She glanced up to see how he was taking all this. "Really." Then, barely above a whisper, "Robbie, I've no other wish but to hold you. To be with you. To make your pain go away, or at least be lessened. And James will be glad of it, even if it means he lost the bet. More than anything, we want you to have the happiness you deserve."

He could see she meant it. She had been with him through Hell and would let him be whatever it was he needed to be. But she would also be his ground, his anchor. Exactly what he needed. He found her lips again, kissing her hard and without reservation, and she returned it in full measure. A new fire blazed in him, consuming the past, and he gave himself happily and completely to its warmth and light.


	5. Chapter 5

Lewis slowly came to consciousness. From the pounding of his head, he knew it would be a bad idea to open his eyes before taking a little inventory. Ugh. His brain felt like it was mired in boozy, purple sludge. Eye sockets aching. Tongue thick and completely dry. Stomach sloshing a bit, not too bad. Everything else seemed intact and uninjured. Notably absent was the usual morning ache deep in his loins. He slid an exploratory hand down his stomach, past his navel. Sticky. Must have been a good dream, that didn't happen very often.

He pried open first one eye, then the other, trying to focus. The room he saw was utterly unfamiliar to him.

At once fully awake, he searched his sodden memory for clues of what he was doing here. He felt like he was trying to communicate with his brain through a bad telephone connection that kept breaking up. Gradually, the events of the previous night struggled out of the fog and clicked into focus.

Oh bloody hell.


	6. Chapter 6

"Good morning, Sir. Have a good weekend?" Hathaway was already at his desk when Lewis came into the office Monday morning. The Inspector did not return the greeting, but headed straight for the coffee pot they'd tucked into the corner, against regulations but with the tacit approval of Chief Superintendent Jean Innocent.

"Is this all the coffee you've left me?" Not very friendly this morning, Hathaway thought.

"Sorry, Sir, I'll make some more."

Lewis looked at his desk. "Hathaway, where the hell's the report from last week's case? What's taking you so long, man? Innocent will be in my face if she doesn't have it today. That better not happen, you savvy?" Openly hostile now. Not good.

"I'm just finishing it up now, Sir. Which do want first, the coffee or the report? Your wish is my command." He never could resist a dig, even when he knew it was ill-advised.

"I want them both NOW, so I'm gonna go get meself some coffee and when I get back, that report will be on me desk." He fairly stomped out of the room.

As soon as Lewis was out of sight, Hathaway was on the phone. Damn! Got her voice mail.

"Laura, it's James. Call me when you get this. Boss is a bit of a prick this morning and I need to know if Friday night has something to do with it. Bye."

He typed in the last of the report, hit print, and had it waiting when Lewis returned. Lewis glanced at it cursorily, signed it, and set it aside. Apparently, he was going to wait and make Innocent come get it, rather than put it in her box. So Lewis's chip was against the whole world, Hathaway concluded. Not just against him.

Lewis continued to shuffle the papers on his desk in stony silence. An hour crept by, feeling like five. James would peek up at him every now and then, trying to see if he was calming down or getting worse. But there were no visible clues on that question.

The next time he peeked up, Lewis was staring directly at him. His look hardened.

"Say it, Hathaway."

"Sir?"

"You're muckin' around with the papers on your desk and doing nothing. That always means you have something you want to say."

"Um, I wanted to thank you for driving Friday night. I really enjoyed the evening." Then, against his better judgment, "Did you?"

Lewis smiled grimly, but his answer was without sarcasm. "Oh, aye. Friday night was champion."

"Then what's bothering you?"

"Who says something's botherin' us?"

Hathaway wondered if Lewis really didn't know. "You are aware, aren't you, Sir, that your Geordie gets noticeably thicker when you're under stress?"

Lewis gave a little snort and turned away, not answering either of Hathaway's questions.

James could not leave it alone. "Well, if Friday night was 'champion,' that means Saturday morning must have been . . . What's the word I'm looking for here?"

Silence. Then, barely audible, "Shite." Suddenly rising from his desk and heading out the door, "Right. I've got to go down to Personnel for a bit. Try to do something useful while I'm gone."

Hathaway had to talk to Laura. Something definitely had gone wrong.

As if she could hear his thoughts, his phone buzzed: "Hobson calling" was on the screen. "Yeah, Laura, what happened Friday?"

"Everything went as I told you it would. He came in, we talked, had some wine, and we were dancing a little when the light went on very suddenly. He seemed really, really happy. Did you know he has a tattoo?"

"I am scared to ask."

"Newcastle United's crest. Upper arm. Looks like he's had it a long time."

"So you ended up in bed?"

"Didn't I say we would?"

"How did that go?"

"Well, the first time was a bit quick, but he made up for it later by—"

"_Laura_! Too much information. I just was wondering if he wasn't up to it, so to speak."

"Oh, that. No, he was fine."

"So what happened in the morning?"

"I have no idea. I was up and had the kettle on, and he came out dressed already but looking pretty rough. Too much wine, I should think. He just stood there a bit and then he said he was sorry, he had a lot of thinking to do. And then he left. Just like that. I tried calling him later and on Sunday but he wouldn't pick up." She paused a bit. "James, I hope we didn't make a mistake doing this. How does he seem?"

Hathaway furrowed his brow. How _did_ Lewis seem? "Well, he's shouting at me for no reason, he's purposely inconveniencing Innocent, and he's indicated that Friday night was good but Saturday morning was not the high point of his life. Hurt? Angry? Embarrassed? And why? I really have no idea. Must be something like that, though. How much did you lead him along?"

"Not much at all. Don't be making this into my fault, James. I kept the wine glass full, I steered the conversation back to him when necessary, and it was my idea to dance. Mostly I kept my mouth shut and he did the talking. He came to the realization all on his own, I guarantee that. And he was the one who started the kissing and the one who asked where the bed was."

"Okay, sorry. Sounds like you did everything right. Look, I wouldn't mind being gone when he gets back here, and I guess I owe you lunch, so can we continue this post-mortem at the Maiden's?"


	7. Chapter 7

Hathaway grabbed his jacket and practically ran from the office. Arriving at the Maiden's Arms, he ordered two half pints and found a table outside. He was halfway through his second cigarette when Hobson arrived.

"I've made a list of possible reasons why he's acting like this." Hathaway couldn't help but organize things, especially when facing a difficult problem. "Anger. Guilt. Hurt. Fear. Embarrassment. Confusion."

"That's not incredibly helpful, James. We have to figure out _why_ he feels whichever of these he feels. Why not just ask him?"

"You're joking, right?" He looked at her in alarm.

She was unsuccessfully suppressing a smile. "Well, I wouldn't make you do it anyway. You have to work with him. Besides, he owes me an explanation for running off like that. No, let's see if we can come up with a reason for any of these."

James thought a while, then threw the end of his cigarette away. He lit another. "I put my money on guilt. Friday night he was able to forget about his wife. Saturday morning, he not only realized that he was unfaithful to her, but also that he was able to forget her for a while."

"That sounds very plausible. What about anger? He might feel like we tricked him into this."

Hathaway looked down his nose at her with growing concern. "Why would he think that, Laura? Unless you told him about our bet."

She looked away, guilty.

"Oh, God, you told him. You _told_ him. What's he supposed to think?"

"I had to, James. He saw us whispering and figured it meant there's something between us. He thought he was invading your turf, and I could tell he'd keep his hands off, no matter what."

"He's not invading my turf?"

She gave him a mock slap. "Cocky sod!"

He grinned. She certainly packed a lot of attitude into that petite frame. Then he was back down to business. "Well, that could explain anger and hurt. And would add to the guilt, if he thought he should have realized something was afoot and stopped it before it went too far." He thought some more. "Fear doesn't seem to fit in. Unless you two didn't use any protection?" He looked at her with one eyebrow raised.

"He assured me it wasn't necessary. Is that enough information for you, or do I need to get more clinical?"

"I get the picture. So fear is off the list." He crossed off the word.

"Confusion is easy, as long as any of these others is present. I'd say that one's a certainty. But embarrassment? Why would a guy be embarrassed about it? His performance was more than adequate, and he didn't call me by the wrong name or anything." She looked at him quizzically.

"Well, if he thinks we were matching wits with him and he lost, he might be embarrassed about that. We both know that he lost his grip on that supreme control he keeps over his heart. He might be embarrassed at being so weak and easily led."

She nodded at his reasoning. "And he's not one much for fornication." She looked at the paper on the table. "So we've narrowed the list by one. I'm not sure we can do much about guilt, but the rest of it, if we can just convince him it wasn't a cruel conspiracy . . ."

"I think we need an intervention. Corner him and explain it together."

She looked thoughtful. "No. He'll throw up a big wall if we come at him too hard and fast. It'll really look like we're teamed up against him. I'm inclined to just give him more time. He absolutely reached the conclusion on his own, and if he thinks about it enough, he'll realize no one led him anywhere, he wasn't tricked into anything. He definitely wanted what he got."

"Wanted it at the time, you mean."

She grew quiet. "James, Friday night was genuine. For once, he let his guard down completely, let himself be totally vulnerable. His loneliness is more than he can bear any longer, I'm sure of it. He told me he was resigned to 'doing without' from now on. Maybe now he's angry that he let himself see what he's been missing and can't reconcile it with what he thought he wanted all this time."

"So meanwhile, I just take the crap he throws at me and neatly dispose of it when he's not looking?"

She raised both eyebrows and shrugged. "He needs time and space. Be nice, if you can, James. You could hint that his unexplained departure Saturday morning was rude, and he should call me to apologize. But don't avoid him; he shouldn't be alone for too long. He needs to know we care about him."

Just then, Hathaway's phone buzzed again. "It's him." He answered. "Hathaway."

"Hathaway, where the hell are ya, man?! Taking the whole day off? You've got work to do!"


	8. Chapter 8

Hathaway entered the office, carefully avoiding any eye contact. Still, he couldn't help noticing Lewis sliding some papers under a manila envelope on his desk.

"So what's this work you mentioned?"

"D.I. Laxton needs you for a couple of days. Some sort of massive file checking, looking for a needle in a haystack. Everyone who can be spared is on it. Briefing is in ten minutes." Lewis took a sip of coffee. "Been paying Hobson that lunch you owe her?"

James inhaled deeply through his nose. Then he plunged in. "About that, Sir. Laura's a bit upset that you left without any explanation. I thought you said Friday night went so well . . . ?" Major mistake.

Lewis looked up at him, the fury showing clearly in his face. Then he exploded. "I may not be experienced in recreational shagging, Sergeant, but I know that in my time it was considered bad manners to tell your mates all about it the next day. So just piss off!"

"Sorry, sir," James said quietly, looking away from Lewis's burning stare. Recreational shagging? It that what he thought had taken place? For once, Hathaway resisted the urge to say anything more. It would probably just make things worse, if that were possible. A couple of days' break from him was probably just what they both needed. Thank you, D.I. Laxton, for good timing!

Just then, a familiar female voice came from the doorway. "Lewis—"

"WHAT?!"

Chief Superintendent Innocent frowned at him, folding her arms across her chest.

It took a moment of visible effort for him to compose himself and become appropriately submissive. "Um, sorry ma'am. Didn't mean to shout."

Her eyes narrowed. "Where's the report from last week?"

She took it from Lewis without comment. Then she looked from one to the other.

"Are you and Hathaway having a disagreement?"

"It's just temporary, ma'am."

James remarked to himself that, no matter how acrimonious things were between him and his partner, Lewis always closed ranks when Innocent tried to pry. No one could accuse him of being disloyal.

She turned to James. "Lewis told you about D.I. Laxton's project, yes? She's briefing in a minute. Better get your skates on." Then, "Lewis, I just received a rather disturbing call from Personnel. I'd like a little chat. Now."

Lewis followed her out of the office. Hathaway started after, but the envelope on Lewis's desk caught his eye. Trying to avoid guilt by telling himself he was really acting out of concern for his boss, he slid the envelope to one side and peeked at the papers underneath. The title of the sheet on top made him catch his breath.

"Application for Pension Benefits."

Damn Laxton's timing!


	9. Chapter 9

The briefing extended into starting the actual work, and Hathaway's nose was stuck to a computer screen for the entire remainder of the day. By the time he finally escaped from the drudgery and returned to the office, he saw Lewis's computer was shut down and the manila envelope was gone from his desk. Innocent's office was also dark.

He punched the speed dial on his phone.

"Yeah, hi, it's me. Can you meet me for a pint? I need to tell you about a couple of developments." A pause. "No, none of them is good." Another pause. "Yeah, White Horse, fine. See you in a few."

She was waiting at an outside table, where the sky glowed rose with the late-evening sunset. Two pint glasses sat on the table, one of them full. Hathaway lit a cigarette to steady himself.

"Well?"

Deep breath. "When I got back from the Maiden's, Lewis made this pointed remark about my buying you lunch. I figured that gave me an opening, so I mentioned that you found his disappearance a bit abrupt after having had such a lovely evening. He absolutely jumped all over me, told me to piss off, and referred to Friday night's events as 'recreational shagging.' Then Innocent called him away and I had a peek at some paperwork on his desk. _Retirement_ paperwork. He picked it up today, I'm sure of it."

"Oh, dear God."

"He's so angry and I can't help thinking it's our fault, all of it. And now Innocent's assigned me to D.I. Laxton for the week for this stupid scavenger hunt through mounds of names and addresses and I have no chance to talk to him at all but all kinds of time to think about this." He gave her a desperate look.

"Ohhh, dear God," she repeated. They sipped their ale in silence for a while. "Maybe it's just as well you're not working with him for a few days. He's probably more angry at himself than anyone else. I still think we should just give him time. Does Innocent know?"

"About his retirement plans? I think so. She mentioned getting a disturbing call from Personnel, and that was why she wanted to talk with him."

"Well, you'll have to trust her to get it sorted. She won't let him retire just because he's hit a bad patch." She took another sip. "And if he does, then I'll just have you all to myself, won't I?" She smiled mischievously.

He had to smile back, shaking his head. "You must have been a real troublemaker when you were a kid. And able to charm your way out of it, too."

"What do you mean, 'when I was a kid'? I can still make plenty of trouble, if you haven't noticed." She arched her eyebrows at him.

"It's your most endearing feature."

"Really, James? I have the feeling I have other features you find more endearing."


	10. Chapter 10

The rest of the week dragged by. Hathaway was in the office only in the mornings, to check his computer, and in the evenings, to shut it down again. Lewis was never there, and James soon concluded that Lewis was not coming in at all. His chair never moved, nothing moved on his desk. His personal things were still there, and his name was still on the door, both good signs. On Thursday morning, Innocent was in the hallway when James arrived.

"Hathaway, if you have a moment?"

How he dreaded those words.

He closed her office door behind him and remained standing.

"Despite your preoccupation with D.I. Laxton's case, you may have noticed Inspector Lewis's absence this week."

"Um, yes, ma'am, I did."

"I've asked him to take a bit of leave time. You two are in between cases, and he seems unusually troubled by something. He wouldn't tell me. Did something happen between you two?"

"Um, no, ma'am, not that I'm aware."

She studied him, analytically, for a long time. Finally,

"I see." Meaning, he knew, _I see right through you_.

"Um, ma'am . . . will he be coming back?" She looked at him sharply. "I mean, _when_ will he be coming back?"

"I expect him back Monday. And you'll be assigned to him whether Laxton's project is done or not. So you have that to look forward to."

When he left the office the next night, Hathaway found himself aimlessly driving around the city. Laura had asked him to go for a pint, but he snapped at her and she snapped back. Looked like he succeeded in alienating yet another person he cared for. But why did she have to involve him in her little plan? She didn't have to work with the man, but he did. And now they couldn't even look at each other, let alone work together.

He realized then he wasn't driving as aimlessly as he thought; this was a familiar route. What was he doing here? He felt a bit like a love-sick schoolboy.

But he continued in the same direction. When he got to Lewis's house, he drove by slowly. It was completely dark. Either he was gone or asleep or sitting and stewing in the dark. This was silly. It was not his job to get into Lewis's head and sort out his thoughts for him. Why had he let Laura talk him into this little project? He sighed. No, it wasn't fair to blame her, they cooked it up together after they were both amused and a bit saddened when Lewis totally ignored the advances of the Trout's rather attractive barmaid one night.

It had seemed like such a worthy mission. The man was rarely happy and clearly needed help working through the grieving process. It would be good for Lewis to have a little tenderness back in his life, someone he already knew and trusted to help him relax at the end of a rough day. And then that Friday, it seemed that fate had presented them with the perfect set-up, everything in place. All that Lewis needed was that little push.

And then it all went spectacularly wrong, their great idea going down like the Titanic. Who the hell were they to think they had any right to tinker with the man's life? Love and grief were some of the most complicated emotions James could think of, and here they were acting like this was some simple little thing that could easily be fixed, given an hour or two and a bottle of wine. He pounded the steering wheel in frustration. Idiot! Looked like he was on the verge of totally screwing up his own life again. And once again screwing up the life of someone he cared for very much. Why couldn't he just let people live?

Angry at himself, he drove home a bit too fast, practically shoving the car into its parking space. He banged through the door and jerked his tie from his neck. He poured himself a tumbler full of scotch and sat in silence in the dark. By the time he knocked the bottle off the table trying to grab it, it was empty.


	11. Chapter 11

Monday morning found Hathaway already in the office when Lewis arrived. Without a word, Lewis poured the remaining half-cup of coffee into his mug, dumped out the used grounds, and set another pot to brewing. Hathaway sneaked a couple of peeks at Lewis, but each time his senior officer was looking elsewhere—his computer screen, the window, the framed photograph of Val. Despite the silence, or maybe because of it, Hathaway could easily imagine a brooding hostility poised right beneath the surface, and he resolved to say nothing unless it was necessary.

An hour later, Hathaway felt like he was going to implode from the tension. He was debating how to open a conversation when the telephone rang.

"Yeah, Lewis . . . . Yeah, okay. We'll be right there." Lewis looked directly at Hathaway for the first time in a week. What struck James was how gaunt and exhausted Lewis looked. Like he hadn't eaten or slept in a long time. James realized he himself probably looked almost as rough.

"There's a body been found in Jericho."

"Right. Let's go." James recognized they were both making a determined effort toward acting as if everything were normal.

They arrived shortly after. Dr. Hobson and the SOCO crew were already there, but there wasn't much activity. Hobson met them at the front door.

"This one's not pretty. Been dead a while, and in this heat, well . . ."

"Yeah, I noticed the smell." Lewis was matter-of-fact about dead bodies. Had been for years. Hathaway, on the other hand, had a bad feeling about what the sick-sweet odor was doing to the stability of his stomach.

Hobson led them into the house and down the hall to a bedroom. "Right. Well, here's your corpse." She pulled back the plastic sheet covering the body on the bed. James couldn't look. He was losing the battle with the bile rising in his throat.

Hobson continued. "Probably natural causes. Heart attack most likely, then couldn't get to the phone. Though it looks like perhaps a rat has been at him as well."

When Hathaway returned from heaving his breakfast into the garden, he was finally able to look at the body. The man was thin, and a bit of grey streaked his hair. Sixty maybe, certainly not older. About the same age as Lewis, James thought with a disturbing twinge. He glanced at his partner to see how he was taking this. Expressionless. Silent.

There were no obvious signs of criminal involvement. The smell had been noticed by Mr. Langston, the next-door neighbor. When Mr. Langston connected the smell with the fact that he hadn't seen his neighbor, Jacob Green, in days, he had called the police. Not that he saw Mr. Green very often. He really didn't know him, but generally said good morning to him at least two or three times a week.

James conducted the standard interview with Mr. Langston, but didn't learn much more. Langston had moved in five years ago, shortly after Green's wife, Joanna, had died, leaving her husband alone. Langston had never properly introduced himself, and his now-deceased neighbor had been retired and didn't go out much. Nor did anyone seem to visit.

Hathaway scanned the house for anything out of place, but nothing appeared to be disturbed. No sign of a break-in, nothing noticeably missing. The house was spartan and not terribly clean. Fridge was nearly empty, a cup and saucer waited in the sink to be washed. The front room seemed faded and not very comfortable. The desk bore several framed photographs of the man posing with a woman, obviously his wife. They spanned a range of years, one showed them as a young couple on the deck of a ship. The most recent had them cheek-to-cheek over a table setting, as if it were taken by the waiter in a restaurant. The man had aged some since that one was taken.

Hathaway sorted through the small pile of letters and bills that had collected under the mail slot in the front hall door. Amid the mass-mailings and notices was a hand-written note, and James tore it open. It was from an Alice Spooner of Bath. The letter read:

_Dearest Jacob,_

_I wanted to thank you for the birthday card you sent. I should have written sooner, but my arthritis kept me from doing much. I miss our communications very much and would like to continue them soon. To this end, I hope to visit you before the end of summer. Please, PLEASE, Jacob, write me or call me and tell me I'm not out of my mind for trying to keep alive the flame we shared. I love you, as you know, and it breaks my heart to think of you all alone there._

_All my love,_

_Alice_

Hathaway looked around to find Lewis and show him the letter. Where was the man? Certainly he had left James all the donkey work—interview the neighbor, check the rooms, sift through the mail.

James found him standing perfectly still in the front room. He was staring at the photos on the desk. As far as James could tell, that was all he had done since seeing the body. Laura stood off to one side, studying Lewis, concern in her eyes. She glanced at James and bit her lower lip when their eyes met.

Deep breath. Brace for an explosion.

"Sir, are you all right?"

Lewis kept staring at the images on the desk. Then he whispered,

"No, Jim. Not really. Did you find anything?" Slowly, he turned and looked at Hathaway with the haunted eyes of a man who has seen his own corpse.


	12. Chapter 12

The drive to Bath was completed in total silence. Hathaway piloted the Vauxhall, and with the help of his GPS they found Alice Spooner without any trouble. She was the only person for whom they had any contact information. She opened the door with a smile, a lovely woman in her late fifties with the kind of quiet beauty that comes from kindness and wisdom, rather than glamorous good looks.

When they were settled with a cup of tea and some cake, she explained how she and her late husband had been close with the Greens. They enjoyed each other's company in countless adventures and good times. Mr. Spooner died about seven years earlier, and when Joanna Green died, Alice sought out Jacob Green's company for her sake as well as his. For quite some time they simply did nice things together, dining and going for walks.

But this past year, on her birthday, they came back to her house after having a lovely dinner out. She was feeling a little sorry for herself and quite lonely, and she knew Jacob often felt the same way. She sat next to Jacob on the sofa and then started to kiss him. At first, he responded. But suddenly he jumped up and fairly ran from the room. She never heard from him again. He refused to answer the telephone and would not reply to her letters.

"I blame myself, really. I should have realized he needed more time to get used to the idea that it isn't wrong to want intimacy, physically as well as emotionally, even though Joanna was gone. Everyone needs comfort, you know. The chance to _make_ love, not just to have it. I should have pointed out to him that Joanna herself would have wanted him to be happy. It would have broken her heart to know he died so alone."

On the drive home, Hathaway reflected that Lewis hadn't said a single word the whole visit, except to thank Mrs. Spooner in a rather hoarse voice. He glanced over at the passenger seat. Lewis sat with his head tipped back, mouth agape. Snoring a little. Well, that was probably what he needed most.

Some time later, Lewis's phone rang. It did not wake him up, and Hathaway couldn't get to it while he was driving. Shortly after it fell silent, James's own phone buzzed. Hobson calling. Normally, James would not answer his phone while he was driving but, then, things were definitely not normal these days.

"Hi, what's up? I'm driving."

"I have your post-mortem. I tried calling Lewis but he didn't answer." She added, "I'm a bit worried after the way he seemed to shut down this morning."

"He's right here, sound asleep."

"Oh, thank God." Laura sounded as if she'd been more than just "a bit" worried.

She continued. "Jacob Green definitely died of cardiac arrest. He wouldn't have died instantly but probably was too dizzy to get to a telephone. Absolutely no evidence of criminal involvement. Death occurred, I'd say, ten days ago." She paused. "Late Friday night or early Saturday morning."

James was silent as he considered the coincidence of the timing.

"James?"

"Mmmm?"

"Hard copy will be on your desk in an hour. Call me later when you can talk, okay?"

"Yeah, of course. Thanks. Bye."

Hathaway worked on the report studiously when they returned to the office. There wasn't really much to report, since it turned out to be just a sad, natural death. Lewis seemed to be writing in his little notebook, but James did not want to look at him too directly. Even making eye contact felt invasive at this point. The man could not have missed the day's lesson.

Innocent kept cruising past their office, clearly lacking an excuse to ask them how they were getting on. Finally, Lewis called out, "Ma'am, you'll have the report before the end of the day. Was there anything else you wanted?"

She was a bit flustered at getting caught. "No, take your time. I understand it's not a police matter after all?"

"That's right, ma'am."

Hathaway soon turned over the finished product. Uncharacteristically, Lewis read it slowly and carefully, even rereading some of it. Finally, he signed it and got up to take it to her. As he passed Hathaway's chair, Lewis laid a hand on his partner's shoulder for a moment.

"Thanks, Jim." Then he went out.

Hathaway took a big breath and blew out his cheeks. Clearly, Lewis had reached a new phase, one much more pleasant for James but harder to read. He set his teeth resolutely and when Lewis returned, faced him directly.

"Sir, I want to apologize for—"

"Oh, no, Hathaway. I'm the one who needs to apologize. I've been a right bastard to you ever since . . . well, you know when. I was wrong to be angry at you for what I considered poking into my business. The welfare of people we care about is always our business. I know you and Hobson were only trying to help me."

James sat absolutely still. Lewis continued.

"I tried to write some of this down—" he gestured toward his notebook "—but I'm not very good at complicated emotional stuff. It's just . . . I'd have to be daft to be the same man I was when I got up this morning, wouldn't I?"

Although his eyes looked unbearably sad, he gave a tiny smile and asked, "Could you use a pint?"


	13. Epilogue

Later that evening, Dr. Hobson was sipping a glass of wine, legs tucked up under her on the sofa, working on her monthly report. She frowned with annoyance when the doorbell rang. Hard enough to avoid distractions with these bloody reports, this better be worth the trouble.

She peeked through the peephole and yanked the door open immediately.

"I brought you a bottle of wine to replace the one I drank up the other night." He held it out.

She took it from him. "Is that all?"

"Ah, no. There were one or two other things . . ." He was studying the ground.

"Then you'd better come in, Robbie. Do you want to sit?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm not all that sure I'm welcome here." She started to speak, but he cut her off. "Laura, I have to apologize for . . . well, for everything. I ran off like you had the plague but it was really me that had the problem. I felt like such a horrible person for putting my needs above the memory of my wife, and I blamed you for breaking down my resistance. Really, I should be thanking you, you and James, for caring enough about me to take this great risk."

At last he looked at her. "Today . . . well, I feel like I've just been on tour with the bloody Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, you know? Here lies Ebeneezer Lewis, died alone and unhappy because he was too afraid to accept love."

He continued. "I don't want another wife, and I don't want a girlfriend. But I am grateful you gave me what Alice Spooner called 'the chance to _make_ love, not just to have it.' I needed that."

He took a deep breath and met her eyes squarely. Laura could read it in his eyes just as clearly as if he had said it: _I'll probably need it again_.

But all he said was, "So, I'm sorry . . . and thanks for all you've done."

She bit her lip to help her ignore the blurriness in her eyes. "Was there anything else you needed, that you came for tonight?" She moved closer to him, so close their bodies touched.

Oh, yes, there definitely was.


End file.
